C'est La Vie
by OmangoOlemonadeO
Summary: You learn, you live, and you lose. Sometimes you may regret. But in the end, those precious memories are going to stay with you forever. C'est la vie. Each chapter a short, random story of FrUK. Chapter 7 is up! Just a little fluffy fun!
1. 01 Holiday

**C'est La Vie**

You learn, you live, and you lose. Sometimes you may regret. But in the end, those precious memories are going to stay with you forever. C'est la vie.

Short stories around random themes for the love of FrUK.

Rated T for suggestiveness and themes. :P

Disclaimer: I don't own APH.

Hope you enjoy it!

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**#01 Holiday**

England took in the beautiful view of the white sand; then closed his eyes as the comforting breezes sweep through his blond hair. He raised his head towards the radiant sun, eyes still shut. This was such a nice place.

However, as the sound of flip-flops on sand trotted closer and the familiar scent of _Chanel Bleu_ approached, his caterpillar eyebrows formed an instant frown.

'Cheri, relax a little. We're on holiday, after all.' France smiled as he put his arm around his _Angleterre_'s shouldersm noticing his dissatisfaction. England skilfully shuffled away before the touchy-feely, and not to mention, _naked_, nation come any closer.

'Is this your idea of a _quality _holiday in France?' an eyebrow was raised. He didn't just close his eyes earlier to avoid the bright rays of the sun.

The frog had tricked him to a nudist beach.

'_Exactement_! Isn't this just the place, _Angleterre_? Being able to show off bodily beauty is just what we live for, isn't it?'

'You bloody wanker!' England grimaced and struggled as France attempted pulling his swim shorts down.

Knowing England's obvious stiffness and reluctance, France stepped up and aimed for a breathy whisper right in England's ear, 'S'il te plait, cheri,' he pressed kisses to his pinked cheeks, smiling affectionately, 'I'll treat you to something good…_ce soir_,'

England only tensed up more at the unexpected contact; at a complete fail to notice the sudden rush of cold air around his vital regions as France's plan of distraction succeeded.

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**A/N:**

**Thank you for reading! :)**

**Please let me know if you liked it, suggestions and criticism! :D *Hands cookies***

**Short stories helping _moi_ a lot with clearing up my mind to proceed on assignments. Somehow.**

**Merci beaucoup!**

**See you soon!**

**Luuuurrrveee,**

**~OmangoOlemonadeO~**


	2. 02 Sunset

**C'est La Vie**

**Song: Ice Cream – Sarah McLachlan  
**_(I was listening to it while writing. Goes quite well with the atmosphere of the one-shot.)_

Well then, onto the story!

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**#02 Sunset**

In a bold print Union Jack T-shirt and khaki shorts, England stood on the balcony of the hotel that was facing the ocean. The air was moist. He could smell the sea, and the body wash from his shower not long ago. Everything was so orderly pleasant. If only he could have a cup of Darjeeling in his hands to go with it.

It felt so serene – the sound of waves lapping onto the shore accompanied the lively African music sounded from far away. The sun was finding its way behind the clouds, composing a beautiful Seychellois painting. He heard the click of a door being opened behind him, but he couldn't be bothered turning around. Everything was just too entrancing for him to even want to move. This sure was a good way to ease his worries and responsibilities as a nation once in a while.

'Hmm, _Angleterre_, you look like you're enjoying yourself,' a certain Frenchman stated as he pushed open the balcony window to stand beside the Brit.

'Yeah,' England replied softly, 'it's a pleasure to have Seychelles invite us over for her Cultural Bazaar. This place is great.'

'Sounding so gentlemanly there,' France chuckled, walking closer and snaked his arm around England's waist.

'Unlike you _frog_.' With France, England could always find the will to retort, even when such gorgeous scenery was being displayed in front of his eyes. Yet, he leaned into France's embrace, putting his head on his chest. That was when he noticed France was – unsurprisingly – not wearing much. He could feel France's bare chest radiating warmth and a flowery fragrance from his bath just then.

'I take that as an 'I love you for who you are', _mon Angleterre_,' he said quietly as he pressed a kiss to England's messy blond hair. Reaching his hand out, France intertwined his fingers with England's on the balcony rail.

'Shut up,' Flushing bright red on the cheeks, England couldn't deny the fact that having France by his side was quite the icing on the cake at a moment like this.

He grinned lightly, glad that France couldn't see his face in that position or read his mind at all.

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**A/N:**

**This was written…because I miss the pretty sunset I could see from my house every evening. It was raining quite heavily today and it wasn't at all exciting. **

**Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! **

**Note to self: drinking Russian Caravan while writing is a good idea. **


	3. 03 First Kiss

**C'est La Vie**

Human names used. High-school AU.

Enjoy!

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**#03 First Kiss**

Arthur walked home with his eyes glued to the ground, fingers fidgeting with the edges of his school shirt. The weight of his bag cut in deep into his shoulder, but he didn't really care. His mind was melting into a puddle of nervous thoughts.

He just had his first kiss. And got his first _boyfriend._

He had never imagined sharing that precious moment…with someone like _him._

That perverted _Francis _of all people!

Arthur, being a freshman at the school that he was newly transferred to, couldn't deny the fact that his French senior was good-looking. A little too good-looking even. Francis was always seen on the school grounds, either flirting with a bunch of girls, or hitting on some clueless newcomers of the school.

Arthur was no exception.

When he arrived at the school, Francis had been the one to show him around. He'd also introduce him to his best friends group – some albino kid who kept talking about beer and birds, and the other kid, that cheerful brunette who called everyone his _amigo_. Truth be told, Arthur really didn't care much about socializing. All he wanted to do was to excel in his schoolwork, as expected from his parents. If he had time at the end of the term, he'd fancy dating a cute girl who was equally as good at embroidery as he was.

But Francis certainly had other ideas.

In time, Arthur had learnt that this particular senior was the _Horniest. Person. Ever. _He had seen him wrap his arms around random girls' waists while they talked, pulling them as close to him as possible. On other occasions, he had seen Francis stroking people's thighs during their supposed discussion of some economics homework.

But the strangest part was, he would never leave Arthur alone. He'd wait for him after class, follow him to his favourite spot under the apple tree and spend recess with him; he would even dally around his locker after school just to catch up with him. Arthur did have an inkling that he was being bullied, with all the unwanted attention. But Francis was never one to say or do anything mean or rude to him (frequent kinky remarks excluded). He would always ask Arthur how his day was, how he had been lately, his likes and dislikes, and even his family. Arthur was pretty sure Francis had known enough about him to write a full twenty-page report of 'The Daily Life of Arthur Kirkland'. He had no idea why he was practically _stalking_ him, and he never had the motivation to find out. As long as he didn't follow him home or into one toilet cubicle with him, he didn't want to spend time worrying about it.

Like any other day at school, today had been a quiet and peaceful day; rather uneventful, except for the fact that Arthur had just found out that he was ranking in the top three in every subject.

'_Salut_, Arthur!' Francis waved from afar, walking towards his (or so it seemed to become, _their_) usual spot for lunch. Oh, in fact, if Arthur was allowed to complain about one thing, it had to be _him._ Francis was getting more and more _suggestive_ with his actions…he pinched his butt with one firm squeeze while he was changing into track pants for Sports today! He had turned around cussing at the grinning face before storming out of the already vacated change room. That sent shivers down Arthur's spine, flooding him with goose bumps and making him avoid Francis for the rest of the day.

_How dare he come and talk to me? Bloody hell._

When Francis finally came over, Arthur's obvious scowl had made him back away a little. 'Aw, you don't seem happy to see me, Arthur!'

'Wanker.'

'_Quoi_, you didn't know that I _am_?'

Arthur lifted his head up and glared deadly into his eyes.

'Take a joke, Arthur. _Alors_, I'll see you later then!' He moved back and walked to his buddies, head slightly shaking. Arthur frowned harder.

True to his words, after three periods of lessons that were taken separately, Arthur found the taller blond leaning his back on his locker, eagerly waiting. The hallway lights were dimmed as most students already scurried home. Arthur was presenting a speech on environmental issues today, taking up some time after school. He breathed in deeply and sighed. He would get this locker run over and done with, and rush home. He would not say one single word to Francis.

He walked up to his locker with loud, heavy steps and opened its door violently, pushing Francis out of the way. Rummaging through his bag and pushing a number of items in, he quickly slammed the door shut. That was when the second set of shivers was sent down his spine today. Francis was running his hand up and down his back, tickling and drawing circles lightly. It was indeed really comfortable, but it just felt…_wrong. _He turned around in confusion and a slight sense of fear, his back now leaning on the locker.

'What do you _want_?' He knew he swore himself to silence with the guy, but things were just getting so bizarre. He could even feel his cheeks warming up at his touch. What the hell was wrong with him?

'You.' The look of disappointment on Francis face – since Arthur was ignoring him –was replaced by a smug one. His voice sounded unusually determined as well.

Before Arthur could generate a response from his puzzled mind, he saw Francis' face coming closer and closer to his, his lips going for his forehead then his cheeks. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, but somehow his body was not doing anything to stop Francis. It was as if he was expecting and wishing for more. Finally, their lips joined in a tender touch. It started out soft and soothing, and though Arthur would not admit it, the smell of Francis' cologne made everything even more captivating. Eventually, Francis began sweeping his tongue along Arthur's lower lip, gently nibbling on it. Arthur couldn't do anything but open his mouth slightly for him. His palms were pressed firmly against Francis' chest, while the taller blond ran one hand around Arthur's cheeks and into his short blond hair, the other holding onto his side. Drawing out several gasps and soft moans from the Brit, Arthur could feel Francis' lips curling up into a smile before he pulled away satisfied, adoration twinkling in his eyes.

Still gripping onto his waist, Francis whispered into Arthur's ear, 'Will you go out with me?'

And how could he say no after the most mind-blowing first kiss in history?

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**A/N:**

**This is my first attempt at AU…please let me know you think about it! **

**Thank you for reading this far! **

**Next chapter is already written…with waaaayyyy more **_**substance**_** in it. XD**

**Alors, merci! A bientot! **


	4. 04 Marshmallow

**C'est La Vie**

Warning: More intense kissing than the other ones...

Hope you like it!

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**# 04 Marshmallows**

When France walked into the house later than usual that night, he didn't expect a shivering brooding shadow reflected on the wall by the flames in the fireplace. Nor did he expect those beautiful green eyes of his _Angleterre _to be staring dully into the fire, as he does when he commands some sort of magical communication through fireplaces, only with a more intense look on his face. In less than five seconds, France made his way across the living room and sat beside England, who had expected the Frenchman's swift arrival as he had heard the turn of the doorknob. It was then did France realize how mopey England looked, with a woolen blanket covering him and arms hugging his knees.

Quickly putting an arm around his shoulders, France asked with a charming smile, '_Bon soir, cheri. Pourquoi tu n'as pas dormi deja? Tu m'as attendu ?_'

England, however, did not response to France's _radiating charm_ (or so he told himself). He only turned his head and said sulkily, 'Don't even get me started on the French,' his eyes still boring into the firewood, 'not that I care, but you're unusually late tonight.' He thought France couldn't have seen his cheeks starting to go pink.

France only chuckled at his immensely _mignon _way of saying 'Why were you late? I was worried.' Ah, if only his _Angleterre_ would stop bottling up his words. But he didn't mind anyway, this was what made him so adorable in the first place. He touched a gentle kiss to the side of England's forehead.

'_Desole, cheri__,' _he said in the most apologetic tone, 'I was caught up in a meeting with Germany.' And as he saw a caterpillar being raised above his lover's eye, he swallowed slightly.

'_Non, _Gilbert wasn't there. Don't worry, _Angleterre!_' he pinched the Brit's cheek lightly before touching another kiss on there, 'I'm not cheating on you.'

No, England would not admit to the fact that his face was heating up at that very moment. Saving his embarrassment, France decided to look away and got up. 'Well then, I'm going to make us some hot chocolate. _D'accord__?'_ England nodded, clutching his arms even tighter around his shins.

When France returned with two mugs of hot chocolate with a plate of marshmallows beside them, he was surprised to see England finally turning to him to greet him with proper look in the eye. He handed the mug to him as he mumbled a quite 'thank you'.

Sipping his own mug of deluxe cocoa, he pulled England in his arms and settled under the blanket with him, sitting side-by-side on the massive rug. England suddenly broke the silence by clearing his throat nervously.

'And just to be polite, I'm going to answer your question from before. It's just because– ' then he stopped. He was about to tell him the reason why he hadn't gone to sleep already. It would've been way too embarrassing to tell France the truth! It wasn't his fault that the king-size bed felt extremely cold and empty with only him on it! He had been rolling on the bed several times, trying to find the best posture to sleep in. But nothing worked – he was annoyed to find that without the warmth enveloping his body and the nice, hairy chest pressing close to his back, he had no way to fall into a perfect sleep as usual. As if he would tell France that.

'_Oui? _What were you going to tell me?' His low voice brought England back from his fantasizing.

'…that it's warmer by the fireplace.' France couldn't help but let a smile play over his lips. He loved how he could just _tell_ the hidden meaning of England's every word.

'Hey, _Angleterre?_' the Brit looked at him in question, 'Want some marshmallows?'

'Would love some,' England said honestly and held out a hand, not noticing the glint of kink in France's eyes. France took a pink marshmallow from the plate next to them, while putting both their mugs away. As he was about to grab the sweet from France's fingers, they speedily backed away. England frowned confusedly. France finally put on his signature smirk and purred, 'Na-uh, _Angleterre._ If you want it, you'll have to try taking it from me.'

With that, he put the marshmallow halfway in his mouth.

'You sick _frog._'

But he didn't really follow up on the sound of his dissatisfaction. In fact, he tilted his head sideways, only to bite down the exposing half of the sweet. His lips brushed gently against France's, sending shivers of excitement down the Frenchman's spine. England quickly finished eating the half he'd gotten, noticing France's obvious enjoyment of their little game. France kept a loving stare into his green eyes, about to swallow his half of the candy, when England decided to whisper right in front of his lips, 'Na-uh', he mocked him, 'I want the other half as well.'

The Brit inched up closer and ran his tongue around France's lips, teasingly poking the candy in the middle. France couldn't help but let out a husky purr, trying to suck back on the marshmallow. But England was having none of that – he skilfully slipped his tongue into France's mouth, sweeping the pink candy to himself.

France being France, would not let the shorter blond have all the fun. He quickly tilted his head back, feigning escape. That only made England press eagerly closer to him, his palms now pushing on the floor for support. France held up his hand, his thumb drawing lazy circles on England's flushing cheeks, then down his neck. Every time when England thought he was going to claim it his candy for sure, France would lean back a little more. The flavour of the marshmallow only sweetened their sudden outpour of passion. They continued their little battle until England was finally lying on top of France, his fingers stroking the long blond curls.

Contented with the playfulness that his lover was up to, France lapped his tongue over England's with a wet noise, pushing the now extremely soggy marshmallow to the side of his jaw. England gasped at the intimate sensation, gripping his legs on both sides of France's thighs. He wasn't going to lose that damn marshmallow to France. With an inward smirk, he twisted his tongue around France's, before running it down deeper. The tip of his tongue felt the marshmallow, and with a suck that earned him a sexy groan from the Frenchman, he quickly pulled away, bringing the wanted sweet with him.

France licked his lips sensually, relishing the taste and rather disappointed that their kiss didn't go on for longer. 'That was one hot _English _kiss, cheri,' he said in between quick kisses, keeping England's lips close to his. England still atop him, his reddened cheek and light panting made France itch for more.

Abruptly, France started for the plate of marshmallows. He kissed England lovingly once more on the lips, hope and lust reflecting in his eyes. Knowing full well what his lover was secretly signalling, England nodded at the plate when they parted.

'Upstairs.'

France grinned brightly, pressing their lips together once again with bliss.

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**A/N:**

**- blushes - **

**Hope you enjoyed it! **

**Reviews make me really happy! :D**

**Thanks for reading again!**

**Do let me know if there's something you'd like to read ;)**

**hahaha School term's at an end now, and we mostly just go to school to do nothing. I end up with plenty of free time during class... the last chapter and this one was the product of the heated discussion between a bunch of yaoi fangirls...**

**A tout a l'heure!**


	5. 05 Pain relief

**C'est La Vie**

**Of AU-ish setting with an ill Arthur. Poor Iggy.**

**Happy FrUK reading! :D**

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**#05 Pain relief**

He couldn't remember much.

All that he did recall was a loud screech of the alarm, a sudden loss of warmth that had been beside him for the entire night, and a stabbing pain in his head. Then it was a quick touch of moist lips against his forehead and a 'rest well, chéri, I'll hurry home'.

Then nothing. Sheer darkness except for the pain that stretched from the back of his head across his forehead, onto his eyelids. He never thought eyelids could feel this heavy. Worse still, the only command that his brain was sending out was to go back to sleep as soon as possible, yet he could not physically sleep. No matter which position in which he lay, he could he the pressure being pushed onto his head, intensifying his already deteriorating headache.

Fortunately, weak as any sick person would be, it didn't take Arthur too long to fall back into sleep, be it one of the most uncomfortable feelings he'd ever had.

Come to think of it, he vaguely remembered seeing a scented note on the bedside table with a glass of water next to it when he first woke up today. It was written in that undecipherable cursive writing. And it had to be uncaringly in French. Make a patient translate when he was already feeling nauseous and drained.

Panting slightly, he leaned against the table for the glass of water, took a sip and read the note as carefully as his attention-span allowed him to. He felt like he could hit the mattress again any moment_. _

_Oh, bloody hell_. Arthur realised that his vision was actually slightly blurred and when the slip of paper was threatening to slip out of his hand, he simply let it fall and squirmed his way back under the duvet.

_Francis can tell me later if it was anything important. _

Nose blocked, he struggled again to gain more much needed sleep.

For the second time of the day, he opened his eyes with a start. Somehow the room seemed a bit brighter and his headache was replaced by rubbing and pressing motions on his temples. The pillow seemed eerily warm as well. He blinked curiously and stared upwards, only to be greeted with a fond smile and long blonde curls falling around it. He came to find out that he was no longer lying on the useless pillow that didn't help him sleep, but on Francis' lap; the Frenchman gently massaging his head.

'_Bonjour, _Arthur,' Francis' deep voice sounded, obviously avoiding to talk too loud to aggravate his headache, 'Feeling better?' Arthur only let out a groan in response.

'_Non? _Did you take the pills like I told you to, on the note? _Tu as dû le faire!'_

'Was _that_ what you were trying to say on that slip? I...didn't quite read it...' Arthur said in between sighs, his breathing becoming unsteady again.

'_Oh, chéri,' _Francis sounded genuinely apologetic and pained, 'I should've been here to take care of you. _Je suis désolé. _I was having a secret _rendez-vous._'

Be it any other day, Arthur would stare susceptibly at the taller blonde, his thick eyebrows twitching in a strange way and a pout on his face. But he simply smiled at the _faux ami_ and leaned into the expert touch of Francis' fingers on his scalp, his mind too numb to generate any impertinent retort that usually flowed out of his mouth so fluidly.

'It's okay. Make sure...you don't get a cold...from me...' Arthur said between soft coughs. His flushed face due to the sickness and his burning forehead only made Francis feel worse for not being able to be there for his _amant_ earlier in the day. He leaned down to kiss Arthur's forehead sincerely and stroked his cheeks with self-blame in his eyes.

'Just told you...not to...get it from m-'

'Wouldn't you get better sooner if you passed it onto someone else?' Francis smiled charmingly on top of Arthur, 'Besides, you will look after me if I did fall sick, wouldn't you, _chéri_?'

Arthur had definitely wanted to punch that _frog_ in the face if it wasn't for the fact that he felt, for once today, profoundly comfortable.

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**A/N:**

**Thank you for reading! I'm sorry it was rather cheesy...**

**I hope Arthur wasn't too OOC. I thought he really would reveal his weak side when he was feeling sick, like he did in the anime :D**

**But he still lovingly hated Francis for being the Francis he was. **

**1 am, plot bunny time! XD And type-slowly-so-I-don't-wake-my-'rents-up fun time. **

**haha thanks for getting this far into the drabble series and I do hope to see you soon!**

**~OmangoOlemonadeO**


	6. 06 Absence

**C'est La Vie**

**Human names used.**

**Warning: Major ANGST. Death. AU.**

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**#06 Absence**

He promised.

It was their three-year anniversary.

He promised he would be there. Francis promised. He even sealed it with gentle kisses on Arthur's burning cheek that morning.

It had been three years. Three _bloody _long years. Arthur would still get that heart-throbbing feeling every time Francis leaned close to him. He would pretend not to like the intimate actions, but secretly loving every moment of it, willing the taller blond to go away with fake, powerless punches. Francis would always smile lovingly and comment on how _mignon _his British lover looked, and how much he just wanted to pin him onto their bed right then and there – despite half of the time these conversations were made in public places.

In all honesty, Arthur didn't mind those constant sultry remarks and suggestive winks and groping that his French boyfriend did. He only didn't want to give Francis too much liberty, in case he took it for granted.

But now, he would do anything, _absolutely anything_, for another hug that was a just little too touchy-feely, or one of his gentle and full-of-love goodnight kisses that Francis would give him before he turned the bedside lamp off every night.

There wasn't anything he wouldn't give to exchange the limp, lifeless body in front of him- the beautiful form of his boyfriend- that he could not bear to move a muscle to have a closer look at.

_Why was life so cruel to him?_

He looked up at the blood red vista of the setting sun, hearing the approaching sound of sirens, his knees stuck stubbornly to the ground.

A stray tear found its way out of his emerald eyes, rolling down Arthur's pale, cold cheek.

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He had no idea how me made it back on the bed he and Francis used to share.

Their room, their apartment, their _home._ Everything around him made him painfully aware that he could no longer do the things he loved with his beloved anymore.

Sitting with his back slumped across the concrete wall, Arthur pulled the blanket over his shoulders. His hands were shaking under the cover. The bed felt so cold without the annoying embrace of the Frenchman. The worse thing was, Francis' scent was agonizingly apparent. It not only occurred in the bedroom, but every single room of the house.

Arthur did, for a moment, try convincing himself that Francis would come back. If he just waited a little longer, if he just pushed open the curtains, if he just opened the door; he would find the amorous man smiling graciously at him, ready to send him warm shivers with those strong arms and soft lips of his.

But no. He knew that Francis would never show again. The sinking feeling of losing the one he loved most in the world was dragging his heart down to a place where it can no longer be retrieved.

'Stupid frog... You said...you said... you'd never leave me.'

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It was only this morning did Francis wake him up with a blow on the back of his neck and the working on an apparent hickey there, make him breakfast, kiss both his cheeks before stepping out the door to get to work, and call Arthur as soon as he arrived at the office, saying how much he wanted to see him already. Francis had been so disappointed that he was not able to negotiate for a day off on their anniversary, when Arthur already did so. Arthur had heard him whisper heartfelt apologies over and over again; he really had not been mad at the Frenchman at all. Work was always important, and it wasn't even his fault that his boss was so strict. Yet, he was acting as if he was exceedingly angry so Francis would give him kisses with every single '_Désolé_' and spend more time 'arguing' with him (which usually ended up with both of them in bed or other ridiculous places somehow, but that's another story). He found that apologetic frown on Francis' brows along with the husky voice he spoke to him in, adorably capturing (not that he would admit that he ever found anything 'adorable' on that man).

Therefore, when Francis found out that he couldn't even leave early from work to make Arthur a romantic candlelight dinner, he had immediately booked a table from a nice Italian restaurant that his old schoolmate owned (Arthur said he was 'sick' of French cuisine). He was so excited when he was finally able to leave the stuffy working place and climb into his car, heading to see Arthur. He was so, _so excited,_ because there was something more to this celebration of the three-year mile stone in their relationship. There was a little surprise, and a simple question that he had prepared for Arthur after the meal. So he _had _to make the whole dinner experience absolutely _parfait_, to build up the mood.

But someone else on the road was obviously _more_ excited than he was.

Some _single-celled, brainless fucking son of a bitch_ with a _bloody_ Learner's license was_ fucking _speeding- with a phone in his hand.

When he saw that kid with an incredulous look on his face as he shakily stumbled out of his car after crashing Francis' into a useless piece of steel, Arthur was _murderous. _If it wasn't for Matthew, both Francis and Arthur's best friend, who had hurried to the scene and kept him in his place, Arthur would've stood up despite himself, and punch that idiot mercilessly in the guts.

It was probably also thanks to Matthew that Arthur could even arrive home in one piece in that fragile, broken state he was in.

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For an unknown number of times of the night, Arthur's bloodshot eyes became teary as past memories crept up at the back of his mind, stabbing him pointlessly with a glaringly burning pain called _regret._

If only he could do all those things again- all those things that he had done in denial- and relive the moments.

He would have smothered Francis with the love he had for him, which was most certainly as deep as, if not more, than the _amour _Francis had expressed that he felt towards him. He should have lavished countless kisses on his boyfriend – who always _adored _it when Arthur initiated things first – showing him exactly how much, how _very much_, he cared.

Especially last night, the night just before their special date, when Francis eagerly pressed his body close to his on the very same bed he was in now. He should have spent time listening to and whisper back the sweet nothings the taller blond said to him soothingly, after they had so passionately made love to each other.

If he had only known what was going to happen today, _hell_, he would even have spoken French to him like he nagged him to for all those years. How hard was that two-syllable _'I love you'_ in his proclaimed language of love anyway? He would've done all those instead of pretending to fall asleep and elbowing him away. Pushing that insistent man away had always been the easiest thing to do, almost like a reflex; but since when had it gotten so pitifully difficult to even _try_ to reach out to him and pull him back close?

He clutched a purple lovehear plushie- the one that Francis bought for him from Paris- tighter to his heart; feeling completely, despairingly empty inside, he sniffled hard. He missed Francis' warm breath against his skin as he sighed in his sleep. He missed the muscular chest pressing against his back firmly as Francis held him in his arms protectively, plainly saying that he was never letting go of his Arthur.

Yet Francis had no choice but to.

And to think, all these had only happened last night. It appeared to him that last evening seemed like a it was a year ago.

Arthur brought up a hand to his cheeks, wiping away the dripping tears, thinking no one else would do the job for him anymore. No one would be there to dry his defiant tears with a swift sweep of the thumb, topped with soft, sensual kisses over every inch of his face, before giving him frantic kisses with velvet lips to make him forget whatever it was that had upset him in the first place.

Not anymore.

He slid downwards, burrying himself further into the blanket. Rolling over to the side, he slept on Francis' pillow and smell the familiar mixture of body wash and cologne that lingered around. He wanted to sleep. All the sobbing worn him out. But he couldn't sleep at all. If he even so much as closed his eyes longer than a blink, his imagination of what Francis and he should have been doing on a night like this would run wild. And he would lose more of the little control he had over his unstoppable faucet of tears.

Just when he was trying to lie facing the ceiling, more-or-less comfortably without the Frenchman's touch, the back of his head hit something strangely hard and square-shaped.

He quickly turned around, noticing a foreign object tucked in between their two pillows. Arthur reached out to it in utter curiosity, and gasped as he realized that it was a small red box wrapped around with a white ribbon. Hesitantly, he fingered the ribbon and studied the box, wondering if he should find out what it was.

With shaking hands, he made that final decision and pulled the ends of the fabric which came undone easily.

Could it have been Francis' anniversary present for him?

_Probably something naughty again!_

A faint smile ghosted on Arthur's lips as he remembered the signature horny self that Francis was, and his constant attempts to 'spice things up a little'.

He had to blink a few times to get out the tears that collected in his tired green eyes, usually _beautiful _– they were why he had _tombé amoureux _with Arthur, Francis always says… _said_.

Francis had really hated it when Arthur cried. It ruined the most amazing feature of him, he thought. That was why he would scurry over to Arthur as soon as the first tear formed, and took so much care in cheering up his lover.

He detested anything that made Arthur's green eyes go dull and stressed, even if for just a moment. He would really have disliked himself right then, uncharacteristically.

If only Arthur knew.

Francis would rather he look up to the heavens and show him those gorgeous smiling eyes.

* * *

Inhaling lightly, Arthur prepared to open what was most probably the last gift Francis could ever give him.

He caught his breath as the box was opened.

A pink note was tucked to the inner corner of the lid. It said in the unmistakable cursive writing:

_Mon tres cher__ Arthur, my one and only love,_

_Je t'aime tellement._

_Yours forever, Francis._

He could almost _hear _hin say those words.

Arthur, holding back the streaming tears and the hiccups, looked down at the main content of the box. There, in the white cushioning, sat something he had never ever dreamed of receiving. He felt so pathetic as the only reaction he had was to let those teardrops escape, and hit his trembling hands.

It was a silver ring with a sparkling blue diamond.

Blue like the peaceful sea; blue like the majestic sky.

_Blue like his lost love, his precious Francis' tender eyes._

* * *

Later that night, the whole world seemed to have fallen silent to accompany Arthur's grieving.

In a small apartment in south London, a downhearted whimper could be heard.

'_Francis...I_

_...I do.'_

* * *

**A/N:**

**Waaaaaaaaaah I had no idea what came over me and I wrote this. Probably because I wasn't in too good a mood either. **

**This is the longest one-shot so far! And I can't believe I did something this depressing for the first long one. **

**I'm sorry Francis, come back to life! We need you….Iggy needs you!**

**Hope it wasn't OOC. **

**Thank you for reading!**


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